


bruises/hands

by markrenton



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: M/M, but he finds anakin skywalker, he is also bitter, obi-wan is a sad writer, qui-gon is dead, this is angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-31 02:13:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6451390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/markrenton/pseuds/markrenton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His voice has so much emotion in it Obi-Wan feels alarmed. He never met someone who carries so much just in his voice. The honesty emitting from the sounds Anakin produces with just the fewest of words is astounding to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bruises/hands

It starts on a Tuesday morning, without a heads up; it was one of those beginnings, as people say. When something in your life just _starts,_ just _happens_ , and it's new. New, shiny, and seemingly perfect.  
  
But Obi-Wan is smarter than that. He has life experience, a few bumps down the road of his past (which he keeps to himself) and he never lets himself believe things that seem perfect. He's been around, he knows what's up. He's seen some things he doesn't talk about and it's not as if he's some sort of victim, or a mysterious man that lurks around bars, waiting to stumble upon someone to share his story with.  
  
His thirtieth birthday is on Saturday. Four days from now. A dreaded day for almost any man who has ever walked on planet Earth (which, Obi-Wan has always told himself, c _an't possibly be his home planet_ ), and definitely a dreaded day for Obi. He gets a number of cheery texts from Artoo, including a bunch of emojis and way too many exclamation marks, and he throws his phone on the bed, rubbing his face in his hands.  
  
He can't focus. He wants to write. He's supposed to write, he calls himself a writer, for wizard's sake. Sometimes he feels like he's an excuse for a writer, for one that can never finish writing his novel. He's been calling himself that for the last five years.  
  
He gets off his stupid spinning chair and closes his laptop, falling back on the bed. He's tired- but it's not sleep that he's lacking. Something is missing.  
  
An image of a bearded, long haired man flashes before his eyes and he shakes his head, sitting up on the bed, and in an effort to make that image go away he rubs at his eyes as if he just woke up, swallowing thickly.  
  
_Not today_ , Obi-Wan thinks to himself.   _It's my birthday this Saturday._

He stretches and gets up from his bed, deciding it's a great time to get the hell out of his apartment and get some coffee and maybe something to eat. The small size of his room is driving him crazy - he can't think. He never enjoyed small spaces and he certainly isn’t enjoying this one. He also needs to get Qui-Gon’s face out of his head.  
  
“I’d like a large cappuccino, please,” Obi-Wan mumbles towards the barista while he counts the small amount of cash in his wallet.  
  
“Do you mean a Venti, sir?”  
  
Obi-Wan wants to punch him and not just for calling him sir.  
  
“Yes, whatever, a Venti cappuccino, please.” Obi-Wan can see the short guy’s expression turn a little sour at Obi-Wan’s response, but he can’t bother to worry about this guy’s feelings right now.  
  
He pays and stops himself from whispering under his breath, _this_ _coffee shouldn’t be this expensiv_ e, then heads for the door and leaves Starbucks. He’s only been walking back to his apartment for a minute when he bumps into someone - stumbles, one might say, and his coffee falls to the ground and spills (luckily not on him or the person he went face-to-chest with).  
  
“Blast it,” he mutters with an intake into his nose, trying to suppress a groan.  
  
“You should…  watch where you’re going.”  
  
The voice accompanying those words isn’t malicious in anyway - it isn’t patronizing or harmful. It’s a little taunting, teasing, but also cautious. Almost caring, in some pitch of it.

Obi-Wan almost believes it could sound caring, but he rejects that thought as soon as it comes to his mind.  
  
Obi-Wan glances up in order to see who the person behind the voice is, and a tall, skinny, yet somehow broad guy, appears before him - he can’t be over the age of twenty-five. His cheeks, jaw, and chin have the faintest traces of a growing stubble. He has blue eyes that aren’t dark enough to seem like an ocean, but rather fair, bright ones that resembled the sky on a clear day in spring, when everything seems new and fresh. However, Obi-Wan notices, one can still get lost in them very easily.  
  
“You owe me a Venti cappuccino,” is the only thing that pops into Obi-Wan’s head after he realizes he’s been staring into the stranger’s eyes for almost a minute.  
  
“I guess I do. Here.”  


Obi-Wan feels the guy’s hand on his arm, pulling it towards him. Obi-Wan doesn’t resist, just furrows his eyebrows and allows the stranger to complete his peculiar activity. The blond takes a red pen out of his back pocket and starts writing on Obi-Wan’s arm. Obi-Wan wants to lean in and see what he’s writing, but doing that means invading the stranger’s personal space.  
  
“There you go,” His voice is playful, almost, as the one of a child, and when Obi-Wan finally gets his arm back to himself, there’s a number on it and a name in red, and a display of sloppy handwriting.  
  
Anakin.  
  
Obi-Wan wants to protest, to tell the man he’s being completely ridiculous, but he doesn’t get the chance. Anakin starts to walk away to the direction Obi-Wan came from.  
  
“Give me a call, we’ll get you that coffee,” Anakin smiles at him, and for a split second, Obi-Wan is confident he has lost his mind, it seems flirty. After a moment, Anakin turns around to walk normally and disappears at the corner, and Obi-Wan’s heartbeat still hasn’t normalized.  
  
When he gets home he stares at his laptop. He stares at the words, and they stare back at him. It’s noon and he hasn’t done a thing.  
  
Obi-Wan looks down at his arm and the red handwriting. He bites the inside of his cheek and dismisses a thought - no. He is not going to call him.  
  
Anakin is a nice name. It has a pretty sound to it, a rhythm. Obi-Wan finds that he likes the roll of the name on his tongue. He rubs at his knuckles, spinning in his chair to look at the bed and stare at the wall. He starts spinning around, until he gets dizzy and stops himself, his fist crashing against his desk, and pain shivers down his knuckles to his hand.  
  
_Five years isn’t long enough,_ he shuts his eyes. _He wouldn’t forgive me._  
  
_I wouldn’t forgive myself._  
  
Obi-Wan stands up from his chair. He wants, he needs, to find a distraction. He knows he can’t write, and he doesn’t intend to dwell on that right now. He wonders what’s a better distraction- Anakin or making himself something to eat.  
  
He’s going to make himself something to eat.  
  
Obi-Wan eats two sandwiches in the time span of an hour and a half. He takes a shower (and remembers to write Anakin’s number down on a piece of paper before doing so). He does everything there is to do around his apartment other than write- or call the number Anakin gave him.  
  
Hey, what if it’s a fake number? What if Anakin just wanted to appear nice? What if he calls it, and some hooker service answers him, or the voice on the other line tells him the number is disconnected?  
  
Why the hell does he care this much?

He’s thinking nonsense. Anakin wasn't flirting with him, he was just trying to get away from an old man who yelled at him for spilling his coffee.

 

It's late afternoon when Obi-Wan finds himself staring at his phone. He stares for so long he can see the minutes change- he keeps sliding to unlock and then locking it again, a repeated motion by now, unable to stop. He eventually slides the screen and taps on _phone,_ taking the piece of paper he had written Anakin’s number on and saves it into his contacts.

What is he doing?

Obi-Wan lets another hour pass in his procrastination. He lies on the bed and tries to think- maybe it’ll make his writer’s block leave him be. It doesn't- his mind betrays him and it falls right back to Qui-Gon- he's in his arms and he's so pale, his eyes seem hazy and unable to focus.

Obi-Wan feels his chest aching and his stomach churning. He feels exactly what he did when Qui-Gon’s eyes stopped blinking, when he couldn't feel his breath against his chin anymore. He can feel what he felt when his heart broke into a million pieces.

Obi-Wan sits up on the bed and he hides his face in his hands. He needs to _stop._

It's six in the evening and he takes his phone into his hands and slides the screen, tapping the phone button and searches for Anakin’s name. Fuck this- he can have something. Just for a night, just for a few hours, he can _make himself forget._ He isn't planning to bring this stranger into his life, he just wants an escape.

He plays with his beard as he taps Anakin's name in his contact list, calling him. He's calling him, and there's no answer yet- but it's ringing, which is a good sign. Or so he tells himself.

“Yeah,”

A raspy familiar voice answers from the other side of the line and Obi-Wan loses his ability to communicate or remember how to speak. After what seemed like forever he clears his throat.

“Perhaps, instead of coffee, we'll go for drinks?” Obi-Wan hopes with everything he has that he doesn't sound as pathetic as he thinks.

“Drinks? Right now?”

He doesn't say no. The first thing Obi thinks about is the fact he doesn't say _no_ , which means he's thinking about it. Which means _he was flirting,_ which scares Obi-Wan even more. He stops over analyzing it before he has second thoughts.

“Yes, right now. There's a nice pub on 46th Street, called Coruscant. Do you know it?”

Anakin replies fast, it's almost frightening.

“Yeah, I know it. You move fast, huh? It makes sense, considering the fact you don't seem to watch your step.”

The sting in his voice makes Obi-Wan smile. He can't remember the last time someone teased him and he smiled about it- he likes this guy’s wit, he likes his remarks. It isn't an easy task, making Obi-Wan smile, these days.

“Oh, I get it. You're trying to be funny. Do you fail often?”

Obi-Wan hears a chuckle from the other line and his smile turns into a grin. Anakin laughed at his response and that’s enough for Obi-Wan to sit back against the wall with an arm around his knees. He licks his lips before Anakin talks again.

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Try to be safe on the way over.”

There’s a small sound coming from his phone and Obi-Wan realizes Anakin hung up. It takes him another moment to realize he just made plans for drinks with the guy who spilled his coffee this morning.

He leaves the house ten minutes after their call. He tries to imagine Anakin’s smile while he walks, because he _swears_ he could hear it in his voice while they were on the phone, and now that they're about to meet face to face (and hopefully not face-to-chest), he wants to know how seeing Anakin’s smile from up close is going to be.

 

He doesn't know the man and he already fantasizes about him. Obi-Wan is creeping himself out.  
  
He arrives to the pub a minute and a half late, and searches for Anakin with his eyes- he remembers well enough how the guy looks like. He sees many different people; a couple, roughly the same age, consisting of a brunette woman and a large, heavy man, talking and drinking beer at one table. Across from them sits a lonely girl with tear stained eyeliner, whom Obi-Wan immediately fabricates a story about. He notices two women kissing near the bathrooms, with passion in their eyes- he directs his glance somewhere else quickly, and in a far away booth at the back, he sees Anakin, fingers around a dark lager beer, as it sat on the table, covered in water drops.  
  
Obi-Wan smiles.  
  
He makes his way slowly towards the booth after he hopefully, discreetly tells the bartender the tall guy alone in the booth will be paying for his IPA, takes it in his hand and sits down at the booth in front of Anakin.  
  
The pub has dim lighting, and a warm atmosphere. Obi-Wan goes here frequently. He likes the quiet, he likes how no one minds anyone else’s business. He likes the darkness- but now, he wishes for more light, so he could see Anakin’s own smile better, when it flashes slowly before him, white teeth almost brightening up the room.  
  
“You came.” Anakin’s voice has a small amount of surprise in it, which makes Obi-Wan swallow thickly, his throat feeling a bit dry suddenly. He takes a chug of his beer.  
  
“I’m the one who invited you. Of course I came,” Obi-Wan responds after placing his beer back down on the table, rubbing at his beard. “The real question here is why you came.”  
  
“I spilled your coffee.” Anakin says.  
  
His voice has so much emotion in it Obi-Wan feels alarmed. He never met someone who carries so much just in his voice. The honesty emitting from the sounds Anakin produces with just the fewest of words is astounding to him.  
  
“That’s why you’ll be paying for this,” Obi-Wan raises his glass, a mischievous smile forming across his lips.  
  
“I’ll be happy to. I do owe you one.”  
  
“And it costs basically just as much as the coffee in Starbucks does.”  
  
Anakin laughs, and looks down at his own beer. Obi-Wan notices something in his eyes- there’s sadness behind the laughter, and although Obi can feel it’s genuine, he can’t help but wonder.  
  
“I’m Obi-Wan,” He finally says, nodding. “But you can call me Ben."  
  
“Alright, Ben. Tell me. Why do you go to Starbucks to get coffee?” Anakin doesn’t just taunts but also inquires him, and it makes Obi-Wan shake his head and lean back against his seat.  
  
“It’s a five minute walk from my flat, and I need fast coffee.” Obi-Wan replies truthfully, which makes Anakin lean back as well, and Obi-Wan feels he’s being studied.  
  
“It’s expensive and it’s not even good coffee.” Anakin says and Obi-Wan shrugs his shoulders.  
  
“But I’m crazy. I swear to God I am.” Obi-Wan skilfully objects and takes another sip of his beer, a long one this time.  
  
“The Catcher in the Rye. Impressive.”  
  
Obi-Wan sits up a little against the back of his seat. He blinks at the young man in front of him and nods, a smile of disbelief sticking to his face.  
  
“Right, thank you.” Obi-Wan coughs out, licking his lips. “You’ve read it?”  
  
“I read it.” Anakin says.  
  
“I thought you’d be too posh for that.” Anakin lets out an offended laugh and looks down at the table once more, and the sadness he spotted in Anakin’s eyes earlier make another appearance. He decides he isn’t going to ask.  
  
“How old are you?” Obi-Wan asks.  
  
“I’m twenty-three. And a half.” Anakin adds the second part in a tone of fake-pride.  
  
“Now, that’s impressive.”  
  
“How about you?” Obi-Wan shakes his head and pretends to be utterly shocked, tilting his head at Anakin with furrowed eyebrows.  
  
“Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s impolite to ask for someone’s age?”  
  
Anakin lets out another laugh, his eyes squinting at Obi-Wan. Obi can’t stop himself from joining in on the laughter and smile at Anakin and his absolute confusion.  
  
“You just asked me for my age!” Anakin protests.  
  
“Well, you’re young and beautiful, the rule doesn’t apply to you.”

Obi-Wan regrets his words the moment he hears them leave his lips and he can feel his limbs melting and sinking into the chair. He imagines it; he’s turning into a puddle. There’s an Obi-Wan looking puddle all over his seat, the table, under the table. He’s dripping on his own beer.  
  
“You think I’m beautiful?”  
  
Obi-Wan dismisses Anakin’s answer and looks around for a moment, trying to find the nearest and fastest way of escaping.  
  
“As if you’ve never been told that,” Obi-Wan shifts in his seat, rubbing at his beard and thanks himself for growing it - it covers the smallest flush on his face, with help from the darkness of the pub.  
  
“Not by you.”  
  
It hits him again. The quiet, palpable, natural sound of Anakin’s voice, followed by the a silent. Obi-Wan doesn’t reply, he just looks up at him, their eyes meeting for the first time since Obi-Wan sat down at the booth. Obi feels that the sadness he’s seen before in Anakin’s eyes is hiding, behind something he hasn’t seen in a long time now. He doesn’t know this guy, he keeps reminding himself- but he also can’t remember the last time he felt this way. The last time he had butterflies in his stomach, the last time his cheeks turned red. This twenty-three year old is sitting across from him in a the dark, giving him bedroom eyes and recognizes his condescending quotes.  
  
So he lets his guard down. For once.  
  
They sit there for three hours - talking and laughing, discussing movies, books, even TV shows. They taunt each other, they tease, and they touch. It’s sneaky - it’s a brush of hands, fingers on fingers, legs bumping against each other under the table, and letting them stay. Obi-Wan learns about Anakin things that surprise him, things he would never have guessed. Anakin tells him he’s originally from New Jersey, and that his mom died when he was fourteen. He was sent to a different foster home every few months because he was a ‘runner’. Eventually, though, a nice family from New York City (which, back then, Anakin had only visited one time in his life, on a school trip), offered him shelter and he warmed up to them. They turned out to be the best parents he could wish for. Obi-Wan listens to him talk, absolutely enraptured by a life-story he can’t imagine anyone being able to write. He is also, once again, perplexed over Anakin’s capacity for kindness and honesty - he tells Obi-Wan what happened to his mother, he tells him how it felt. Obi-Wan’s sense of empathy towards Anakin’s emotions is immense. He wants to tell him, _I know,_ but he can’t. Another hour passes by and Obi-Wan barely notices. After Anakin has told him about the things he went through and the way he had lost his mother, Obi-Wan is sitting next to him at the booth and their fingers are playing with each others on the couch seat- Obi-Wan is a little anxious at first, but he places his hand on the space between his thigh and Anakin’s, and Anakin reaches his fingers with his own and they childishly, like two teenagers, hold each other’s fingers, brush, stroke and trace circles around each other’s palms.  
  
“I lost someone too.” Obi-Wan hears himself say, and he can’t catch his breath. He can’t look at Anakin because if he does he might try and leave, stop while they’re ahead. Before this blows up in his face and he’s left alone, _again_ , with his heart in pieces. He can’t take another heartbreak.  
  
But what happens instead is that Anakin’s hand extends to his cheek, and his thumb is trailing against the skin. Obi-Wan’s eyes are still nowhere around the other’s face, but he can feel Anakin pulling his face towards him.  
  
Anakin’s lips are warm and chapped, but they feel soft against Obi-Wan’s. The kiss starts slow and innocent, lips against lips, moving slowly out of sync but getting there - it’s only when Obi-Wan fully faces Anakin when he returns the kiss and presses into it, and it deepens. His entire body feels loose and warm, hot, even, but it’s a comforting warmth.

It spreads from Obi-Wan’s mouth down to his chest until it reaches his toes, and he shudders as Anakin’s mouth parts against his own and he can feel his breath directly fall into his mouth. It’s shallow, and heavy with emotion, and Obi-Wan only gets a taste of Anakin’s tongue against his own before the kiss ends and he pulls away, their foreheads connected and Obi still unable to look at Anakin’s face.  
  
“I can’t,” Was the first thing to leave his lips after that kiss, which Obi-Wan already _knows_ he won’t be able to push to the back of his mind.  
  
“Can’t?” Anakin’s voice is doing it again, the blatant emotion thing. Obi-Wan could hear the concern in his tone even if they weren’t forehead to forehead.  
  
He pulls back further away and he swallows before looking at Anakin’s face. He sees the fear in his eyes and the worry, and it makes Obi-Wan feel guilty but he can’t. He pressed a hard kiss to Anakin’s lips but makes it short, before shaking his head and rising up to leave.  
  
“Ben, _don’t,_ ” Anakin says, and Obi-Wan shuts his eyes for a moment, and guilt attacks him again. “Don’t go, _Ben_ , please,”  
  
He’s already up and he walks to the door promptly, making it impossible for Anakin to follow him. He needs to _get out of there, and he needs to forget about this._  
  


* * *

  
  
Obi-Wan flees back to his apartment as fast as he can. Flee, being a very fleeing use of the word - he leaves the pub so quickly he doesn’t have the time to look back. He considers himself very lucky to live close by.  
  
He gets home and he looks at the time and it’s past ten at night. He paces around his apartment, from his bedroom to the kitchen to the living room. He’s a mess; he’s pulling at his hair, hard, and he doesn’t even mind the pain because, as of now, nothing hurts more than the memory of Anakin’s voice.

_Ben, don’t._ Anakin is ringing in his head. Obi-Wan claws at his scalp, and falls to his bed - he hears Anakin like he’s right there with him, in his bedroom, but he’s not. Because he’s a chicken shit _coward,_ and instead of dealing with what he wants, he runs away.  


  
He falls asleep crying, at three in the morning, now three days before his thirtieth birthday. He wakes up to a pounding noise at his door, and he checks his phone to see what time it is - eight in the morning.  
  
Who the hell is at his door?  
  
Obi-Wan puts on a shirt because he supposes opening a shirt with only his boxers would deem inappropriate, although right now, he couldn’t care less. He pushes his hair back, away from eyes, as he clumsily stumbles towards the front door, and doesn’t even register he should check who it is before he opens it, which he just does.  
  
Anakin.  
  
“Anakin? What are you- doing here, how’d you find out where I live?” He tries to sound scared or shocked, even outraged, but all his voice lets on is nervousness and excitement.  
  
“I asked around, it wasn’t hard.” Anakin just looks at him with furrowed eyebrows, and the more Obi-Wan studies his face, the more he can see. His eyes are red and swollen which means he must have cried too. His lips (other than absolutely inviting) look dry, and pink, and something tells Obi he’s been picking at the skin and ripping it off. Anakin’s appearance as a whole is just as lame as Obi-Wan feels himself.

“Why are you here?”  
  
Obi-Wan tries not to focus on Anakin’s eyes because he might start crying again. He lets his own wander around, and they fixate on Anakin’s hands. They’re bruised and Obi-Wan ponders on what exactly Anakin decided to repeatedly punch.  
  
“I understand.” Anakin says.  
  
Apparently, Obi-Wan’s heart. Or his throat, he can’t be sure. He doesn’t know why those set of words hit a nerve with him but he can’t speak. Anakin seems to pick up on his incapacity to communicate yet again, and he repeats himself.  
  
“I’m saying I understand.”  
  
Obi-Was reacts fast this time- he pulls Anakin inside by his shirt, and he closes the door after him. He looks at him for a few long moments, still holding the hem of his shirt.  
  
“Ben, you gotta say something.”  
  
He kisses him instead - and it’s not rushed. He can’t rush it. Their lips align perfectly, and it’s _sweet._ Anakin doesn’t hesitate and returns the kiss in less than a heartbeat, his arms moving around Obi-Wan’s waist, tugging him closer. This time, Obi-Wan deepens the kiss faster, and their mouths collide, teeth and tongues. Obi-Wan swears Anakin tastes like light. He tastes like the sun on a cold winter’s day, and Obi-Wan’s favorite ice cream.

Most of all, Anakin’s mouth tastes like a promise, and that scares Obi-Wan more than everything.  


They are in Obi-Wan’s bedroom, and his shirt is gone. Anakin’s black army jacket is on Obi-Wan’s chair and he’s laughing into Anakin’s mouth, leaning into the practiced hands running across his back and hips, touching every part of Obi-Wan’s body they can reach, while he tries to dispose more of Anakin’s clothing. The layers between them drive Obi-Wan crazy. The both of them need and want skin, and contact. Anakin is holding onto Obi-Wan’s hips as they stand in front of his bed, but remain on their feet. It still isn’t rushed- Anakin explores every piece of Obi-Wan’s body with long fingers, warm and skillful.

They don’t speak, they touch. They kiss and breathe and gasp, and they fall back onto bed, with Anakin wearing just his trousers now, and Obi-Wan straddles his lap. They’re sloppy, not paying attention to technique. Anakin is driven by pure lust and Obi-Wan can sense him, he can predict his every move - he knows when to tilt his head when Anakin’s mouth places soft kisses on his neck, while Obi-Wan ruts against his hips with need, not entirely certain when was the last time he had sex, or at least sex like this. 

  
It isn’t practical. It’s irrational. It’s Obi-Wan, feeling every bit of Anakin’s emotion through his kisses, which he’s starving for- and Anakin receiving Obi-Wan’s fears, anxieties, and desires without fault or conditions.  
  
Half an hour later they’re naked and Obi’s still in Anakin’s lap. They rut against each other, and Anakin pushes his hips to meet Obi’s and eliciting frightful groans and breaths, and their mouths don’t part for a moment. Every breath Obi-Wan can’t suppress flows directly into Anakin’s mouth, which he accepts wholeheartedly, with his arms around Obi-Wan’s hips, holding him close.

Anakin slides his hand between their hips and his fingers wrap around both of their cocks, and it’s the first contact Anakin makes with his cock, which causes Obi-Wan to groan lowly against his lips, pressing into Anakin’s hand in an effort to achieve more friction. Obi-Wan feels Anakin’s reactions to his own and that arouses Obi even more, and he talks for the first time since he pulled Anakin through the door.  
  
“You can fuck me,” Obi-Wan isn’t sure if he’s letting him know or if begging him, but Anakin definitely endorses him. He just nods, which makes Obi-Wan think he lost his proficient ability to speak, so Obi-Wan grins.

Now Obi remembers Anakin’s age- he looks at him and learns every curve of his eyelash and the bones of his jaw, the sweat drops on his forehead and neck, the way his muscles strain and flex when he moves his arms. Anakin doesn’t ask, he simply reaches his arm to the bedside table and opens the first drawer, finishing around for lube. It takes him a few moments but he finds a full bottle and Obi-Wan almost feels embarrassed.  
  
Anakin presses two fingers inside of Obi and he loses touch with reality. Ten minutes later he’s practically fucking himself on Anakin’s fingers and it’s the utmost incredible feeling- not just Anakin’s fingers in his ass but the combination of Anakin’s breaths in his ear and the groans he tries to swallow.

Obi has his hand around Anakin’s cock in the midst of him finger-fucking him into oblivion, because he can’t have him feeling neglected, until Anakin produces the kind of moan which makes Obi-Wan snap back and shake his head at him. They search for a condom.  
  
When Anakin positions himself against Obi-Wan, he gives him an apologizing look, and Obi-Wan holds onto him at his neck, runs his fingers through his hair reassuringly. He doesn’t want to talk, so he chooses actions over words to convince Anakin everything is okay.

The first push comes and Obi-Wan shuts his eyes and his mouth opens, a choked moan mixed with pleasured laughter escaping him, and he grabs onto Anakin shoulders tight and secure. It takes him a few moments but Anakin bottoms out, and Obi-Wan gets to breath again, nodding at the other man as they keep their eyes on each other. Anakin’s face is nothing like what it was when they met the day before - his expression is vulnerable and exposed, with swollen lips from so many kisses, sweat covered face and sheer bliss envelopes his face.  
  
Obi-Wan is starstruck by how beautiful he is.  
  
Anakin fucks him while he’s on his lap, and Obi ruts down on his cock, hips rise and fall back, each movement draws a different sort of sound from Anakin’s throat and his own. They can’t see anything but themselves, and for one moment, Obi-Wan is sure he can feel not only his sensations, but Anakin’s too.

The pure amount of emotion the both of them are letting out, they impact each other. Obi-Wan’s mouth finds Anakin’s again and the kiss is passionate this time, sloppy and barely even a kiss, because Obi-Wan starts picking up the speed of his hips and there isn’t much the both of them can take.

Anakin fucks up into Obi-Wan in the newly decided pace and Obi-Wan loses himself in the pleasure. He doesn’t feel the need to alert Anakin he’s going to come soon, because according to Anakin’s erratic movements he isn’t going to last much longer either, and Obi-Wan hears himself starting to murmur - something along the lines of a repeated ‘fuck’ followed by a number of ‘Anakins’ and ‘Ani’, and his head falls down to the crook of Anakin’s neck when he clenches around him and comes, Anakin follows not long after.  
  
They bask in their orgasm high for five minutes before Obi-Wan feels uncomfortable and he gets off of Anakin’s lap, removes the condom from his cock and ties it, and leaves to throw it to the trash can in his bathroom.  
  
When he comes back to the bedroom, Anakin is on his back on the bed, smiling at Obi-Wan as his head rests against one of the pillows. Obi-Wan is completely smitten.  
  
They just lie on the bed and kiss for about fifteen minutes without talking about much.

 

* * *

 

“Who did you lose?” Anakin asks, and Obi-Wan looks up up at him, letting go of Anakin’s fingers as he played with them a minute ago. He props himself up on his elbow and scrunches his nose as Anakin waits for a response. By the look on his face, Anakin wasn’t going to take no for an answer.  
  
  
“My boyfriend. Five years ago,”

Obi isn’t sure why he tells this to Anakin. Why he feels comfortable enough to share the most painful part of his life with this guy he just met (and just fucked), and feel so at ease about it, in a way he never feels.  
  
“What happened?” Anakin asks, and his tone is caring. He’s rushed in his answers but Obi-Wan knows he only means well.  
  
“We were.. walking home, and.. some guy had a knife. He died before the paramedics got there.”

Obi-Wan tries to keep his voice monotone, and he doesn’t continue after that. When he says it, he sees it, and when he sees it, he cries.  
  
“Obi.”  
  
It’s the first time Anakin doesn’t call him Ben. He looks up at him and his nose is flaring up, and tears are prickling at the corner of his eyes and he smiles, a sad smile but an honest one, and all Anakin does is pull him into his arms by his shoulders, Obi-Wan’s face buried at the curve between Anakin’s neck to his shoulder.  
  
“This is just who we are.”

Obi-Wan bursts into tears against Anakin’s shoulder, shivering and breathing and turning into a  mess. Anakin has both arms around him, holding him tight, comforting.  
  
It’s the first time in five years, Obi-Wan feels he is going to be okay.  
  
  
The next day, he writes.  


* * *

  
  
Anakin meets Artoo on Saturday, and he brings his friend C.P along with him. Obi-Wan doesn’t ask what C.P stands for, and he doesn’t care. It’s a warm New York afternoon, and the pub is busy. Obi-Wan doesn’t mind; the feels light, and comfortable, and most of all, cared for. They’re all sitting in one of the pub’s outside tables, each with his own beer. Anakin is sitting next to Obi-Wan, an arm around his shoulders - C.P and Artoo are having what seems to be a very heated discussion about Star Trek and physics mistakes.

  
“Happy birthday.” Anakin interrupts Obi-Wan’s thoughts and usual staring-off-into-the-distance, and he turns his head to face the man sitting next to him, giving him a smile.  


Yeah. Obi-Wan is going to be just fine.

  
  
“Ben is old!” Obi-Wan smacks Anakin’s head.

**Author's Note:**

> the title is taken from the song bruises/hands by sailor heart. the fic contains lyrics from the song, i suggest listening to it!  
> i want to thank the light of my life, my wife, noemi who sat up with me and beta'd this fic until she was sick of me and went to sleep. i have endless gratitude for your support. also addie, who supported and believed in me. look, it's 5000 words!
> 
> i'm lukesxywalker on twitter and pudsfoots on tumblr!


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